The Cost Of Living
by FaithOfTheHeart
Summary: A sequel, of sorts, to Aftermath, but can also be read as a standalone. Set after Similitude, both Jon and Trip struggle to pick up the pieces. Jon/Trip friendship.
1. Chapter 1 Suffer The Innocents

A/N: Hello again, and welcome to my latest story. It can be read either as a sequel to Aftermath, or as a stand alone tag in its own right. As several of my reviewers for Aftermath have already guessed, it's set after Similitude.

I found the parallels between Trip's actions in Cogenitor, and Jon's in Similitude, so strikingly similar. They were taken for the greater good, but at a terrible cost to their consciences. And as with Cogenitor, I'd imagine the consequences of Jon's decisions in Similitude would place a real strain on their friendship.

I need to say, too, that this story hasn't taken the direction that I had planned. While writing its third chapter, I found that a very close friend of mine had died, very suddenly, and completely unexpectedly. As you can imagine, it came as one hell of a shock. So the confrontation between Trip and Jon won't be quite the 'yell-fest' that I'd originally planned it to be. I think I'll need to save that for another story, and another time.

There'll still be plenty of angst, of course, for a story that's been especially emotional for me to write, and to complete. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

The Cost Of Living

Chapter One - Suffer The Innocents

Blinking against the lights above him, Trip shifted on the bio-bed, and winced at its lack of comfort. Something was wrong here. _Really_ wrong. Something that ran far deeper than this damn headache.

For one thing, Phlox was unnaturally quiet. Completing his latest checks in unsettling silence. Strangely reluctant to meet his patient's eyes, let alone answer his increasingly antsy questions.

"So, doc… how am I doin' here?"

Taking an excessive interest in his scanner, it was several moments before Phlox turned to face him. There was a raw sadness in the doctor's eyes, that set the bells in Trip's head to all out alarm. Something was _terribly_ wrong here, and… _damn it_! Why wasn't Phlox telling him what it was?

"All things considered, Commander, you're progressing exceptionally well," he said at last, offering him a smile that, to Trip's surprise, contrasted so starkly with the strained tone of his voice. It was one of near exasperation, as if he found his patient's anxiety as a groundless nuisance.

"Perfectly well. This headache is just normal after effects of the surgery. Nothing to worry about."

In the space of a few seconds, Trip's eyes widened, then tightened into a puzzled frown. Great. So, on top of everything else he wasn't being told here, now he was a damn hypochondriac too?

Well, to hell with that.

Sitting carefully upright, Trip waited until the room stopped spinning, then narrowed his eyes, throwing their sharper focus towards the figure who'd already moved tellingly away from him. He trusted the Denobulan doctor with his life. Hell, he'd saved it enough times to have earned a sainthood. If he said he'd needed surgery, for an injury he couldn't even remember, he would still believe him.

But if something about its necessity hadn't quite worked out, then… damn it, he had the right to know. And in the absence of a medical degree, he'd just have to rely on years of his own, painful experience.

"No offence, doc, but I've had more concussions than I can count. I've never needed surgery for _any_ of 'em."

Nothing. No smile, or cheering assurance. Just silence, that turned a prompting smile to a deeper frown. This change he kept sensing, seeing, and feeling around him, was starting to _really_ grate on his nerves. Not just from Phlox either, but pretty much everyone else on the ship. Even Jon too, and – _oh_, _God_.

Fragments of memory were returning now, into a mind that was still struggling to heal itself. They'd been testing his new theory for stabilising the warp field. And it had been working _perfectly_.

'…_damn_, _that_'_s a_ _beautiful sound_…'

Then other sounds had taken its place. Blaring alarms, turning his moment of triumph into the very worst of his nightmares.

'…_I_'_ve_ _got a primary injector flare_… _I_'_m_ _shuttin_' _down_…'

More images. Fires burning. Yelling. Shouting. Himself, scrambling up its ladder to the top of the core. His teams, reluctantly following his orders, and bundling themselves to safety, while _he_ stayed behind. Bearing the duty he'd sworn his life to. Save _them_, save his ship. Then, and _only_ then, save himself.

So close. Running for his life across the top of his beloved reactors, he'd almost made it. Come so close. _So close_.

Against his silent horror, those final pieces of memory fell into place. A surge of heat, throwing him violently sideways. Pain. _Unbearable_ pain. Then falling. _Falling_.

A face. Another face, that had haunted him to the brink of suicide, and…_no_.

_Oh_, _God, no_. _Not again._

Trip's eyes widened, reflecting the horror of what these flashbacks of memory were now telling him.

"Oh, God, the – the explosion! Is – Is that it, doc? Has – Has someone died 'cause of me?"

For anyone, whether human engineer or Denobulan doctor, the thought was devastating. But for Trip, the silence that answered him, the helpless grief in Phlox's eyes, turned devastation into complete despair. A shock that was too much for his still healing body and mind to take, as everything around him spun out of focus.

Strong but gentle hands gripped his shoulders, easing him down. A soft voice finally offered comfort.

"Try to relax, Commander… Trip… it's all right now, just try to relax. Deep breaths. That's it."

_Trip_? He'd called him _Trip_? But the doc _never_ called him Trip. Commander. It was always –

– _Commander_, Trip thought, struggling through a sudden, inexplicable blur of greyness to hear what he was saying.

"…and I'm calling the Captain now, so we can… well, tell you what you need to know."

Still groggy from the faint, and wondering what the hell he was talking about, Trip just nodded. His head was threatening to explode now, and it was all he could do to keep Phlox in focussed vision. He heard him pause, until his hail was answered. Then words that, however quiet, still turned Trip's blood to ice.

"He's starting to remember, Captain. For that, and other reasons… yes. Yes, Captain, he needs to be told."

Breaking the connection, Phlox returned to Trip's bedside, forcing himself to meet his patient's eyes. That's what he'd remember most about Sim. About his selfless, tragically sacrificed son. Those trusting, perfect blue eyes.

And in his quarters, Jonathan Archer sat staring at his comm unit with the same, silent dread. This was it. The moment he'd know would inevitably come. He'd spent two days already, trying to work out how to face it. As he stood, braced himself, then left his quarters, its answer still eluded him.


	2. Chapter 2 Prisoners Of Conscience

A/N: Thank you to both Cap'n Frances and frakme, for your very kind words. They've been very much appreciated.

I'll admit, I still feel a bit odd, posting this story so soon after John's passing. I hope it hasn't been seen as disrespectful, but he was always supportive of my writing. I'd like to think this story will become a thank you for that encouragement.

This second chapter leads into the re-write that I mentioned in my previous author note. I hope you enjoy it, and thanks again for your support.

* * *

The Cost Of Living

Chapter Two - Prisoners Of Conscience

Jon strode into sickbay, into a worrying scene of déjà vu. A grim faced doctor, awaiting his arrival. Extended behind him, a clinically black bed. And lying on it, partially hidden, a still and silent figure, topped by a mop of tousled blond hair. The only difference, between then and now, was the colour of clothing that covered Trip's legs. Not the distinctive blue jumpsuit he'd been wearing on that awful day, but - grey. Haunting grey.

For several seconds, Jon's heart lurched in his chest. A wry smile, and a soft Southern drawl, ghosted through his mind.

'_Yeah_, _Cap_'_n. I_ _bet you_'_re_ _wonderin_' _if you_'_re_ _seein_' _him_, _or me._'

Then he heard it again. Faint. Scared. Whispering a single word that dragged his conscience back to reality.

"C – Cap'n? _Jon_?"

Throughout those eight days, as he'd grown, then lived, then died, Sim had never used his first name. As he finally brought himself to stand at Trip's side, Jon just wished it brought him more comfort – especially when Trip grabbed his hand, staring up at him with such wrenching fear in his eyes.

"J – Jon? What's – What's happ'ned? What've I done?"

'_You haven_'_t done anything_, _Trip. B__ut to tell you what I_'_ve done_… _dear God_, _where do I start_?'

Still no closer to answering that question, Jon glanced up at Phlox, for both support and silent guidance. Answered with an equally subtle nod, he nodded himself, taking a deep breath, before he offered Trip the calmest smile he could manage.

"It's okay, Trip, you haven't done _anything_ wrong. But I _do_ need to tell you what _I_'_ve_ had to do. So just rest up here, and let me do the talking, okay?"

Glancing in turn between where he was still holding his hand, up to Jon's face, then to Phlox, Trip frowned. Jon's presence had certainly helped to settle him, but this sense of awkwardness around him was still there. From the grimness on Jon's face, and on Phlox's too now, whatever they had to tell him was serious. And since his memory still felt like a lump of Swiss cheese, he'd have to trust Jon to fill in the gaps – starting with the question which, as even his muddled mind could tell him, was yet to be answered.

"You – You mean gettin' the engines repaired? Has somethin' happened 'cause of that?"

Suddenly realizing the enormity of what he now faced, Jon tried to reply, then found he just couldn't. Not when he saw the paleness in Trip's face. The dullness in those normally bright blue eyes. Everything he'd been through – the explosion, the coma, the surgery – had taken an awful toll on him.

Through a crushing weight of conscience and responsibility, Jon knew he was about to add to its burden. It left him with one hell of a dilemma. Still, he sourly reminded himself, he was damn good at resolving those.

But was the solution to this one coming too soon? Not for himself so much, but surely for Trip? He'd only been released to his quarters two days ago, and his recovery was still far from complete.

Jon knew he'd have to take this very slowly, and even more carefully, and… God, where to start?

Then he realized Trip had already given him the answer to that, by asking him about the engines. Inwardly, at least, Jon smiled. Even on his sickbed, he could still rely on Trip to help him out of a tight spot. He just hoped that, when all this was resolved, that trust and faith in him would still be around.

"Well, yes. I'm afraid that explosion caused a lot of damage, that's taken a lot to repair," he said at last, quickly reassuring his friend, as Trip's already pale face turned several further shades of white. "But it was an _accident_, Trip. _None_ of it was your fault, it was… well, just the worst of bad luck."

And that, Jon thought bitterly, would take the prize of understatement for the whole damn millennium. Through the cruellest of coincidences, they'd hit that field at the exact moment Trip had started to run his engine tests. Under any other circumstances, he might have smiled. But now? No, he had nothing to smile about. What he had was an injured, vulnerable friend, whose still healing world was about to be torn apart.

"During the test, we were hit by a polaric field, that our sensors hadn't picked up," he went on, taking the curiosity in Trip's eyes as a promising sign, and hoping this progress would stay with him. "Its particles flooded the manifolds, causing the flare that… well, as heroically as you tried to, Trip…"

"…I couldn't shut down… that's what caused the explosion… the accident," Trip finished for him, the shadows of fear and tiredness in his eyes now lifted by a brightening, poignantly child-like hope. "So – So not my fault? Enterpr'se is okay? No-one got hurt?"

For just a few moments, a thirty year old adult morphed back into his eight year old counterpart. Jon, too, found himself transported back in time, to where he'd patiently shown that bright eyed eight year old how to fly his beloved model. Silently horrified, he had to force a reply through a voice that, all of a sudden, had dried in his throat.

"No, Trip, no one else was hurt. But in saving the ship, you _were_ hurt. _Very_ badly. That's why you needed the surgery, that Phlox has already told you about."

A tired wince told him Trip knew that already. And beyond its discomfort, his frown ran even deeper. Despite Jon's assurances, he still felt so out of it. So damn _weird_. Like part of him was… missing.

Something he didn't even understand compelled him now, to gingerly rub the side of his neck – the glances that were being traded at his bedside passing, perhaps thankfully, just out of his sightline.

He was still oblivious to their significance. Had no idea that the blood Phlox had taken from him had led to the creation of such a tragically short life. But as Jon bleakly knew, all that was about to change. Inwardly bracing himself, he took a deep breath. Then softly, quietly, he started to make his confession.

"You'd suffered severe neural injury. You were in a coma, and your condition was deteriorating. And in order to save your life, Trip, I had to make one hell of a decision."


	3. Chapter 3 Fallen Idol

A/N: As I've mentioned already, this chapter hasn't ended up quite as I'd planned. There was originally going to be a far more emotional scene between Jon and Trip, which I may still use for another story, at a more appropriate time.

Even so, there's still quite the showdown to come, as Trip reacts to what Jon has done. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

The Cost Of Living

Chapter Three - Fallen Idol

From babysitter, to surrogate father, to playing God, to becoming destroyer of lives and friendships. Yeah, Jon thought bitterly, he'd had one _hell_ of a week. He'd give anything right now, to change it. His life, if he had to? Hell, sure! God knew, he was happy enough to sacrifice everyone else's.

With perfect timing, his cynical inner voice now joined forces with his equally unforgiving conscience. No, not everyone else's life. Just one life, created solely to save another's.

Just one life.

_Sim_'_s_ _life_.

It had been _his_ decision. No one else's. The cost of success or failure would lie squarely with him. As Trip's reaction continued to silently tell him… yes, by God, he was paying that cost for it now.

Eight minutes had passed now, since he'd finished speaking. Since he'd torn Trip's world apart. Thank God he was lying down already, he thought in bitter hindsight, or he'd have keeled over for sure. However gently he'd tried to break it, the shock had been that great. Brutal, and cruelly inescapable. And still Trip lay in this deafening silence. Staring up at the ceiling, his face an expressionless mask.

Then again, countless emotions had already waged war across it, until the battlefield couldn't take any more. Until just one of them remained. Confusion had turned to disbelief. Shock had changed through rising degrees, into wide eyed horror.

Then, finally, his eyes had changed. Darkened from clearest blue into a storm of silent, bitter fury. Unable to hold Jon's any longer, he'd turned them instead to a point in the ceiling above his bed.

Ten minutes now. And still they refused to move. Refused to even acknowledge his presence.

In helpless solitude, Jon could only bow his head now, and bitterly consider the consequences of his actions. Sim had been right. This really was one screwed up situation, to save one life at the cost of another's. He'd agonized over its ethics then. Talked himself into its justification, then talked himself out again.

In naivete, or just plain arrogance, he'd assumed that Trip would understand the position he'd been in. Even if he didn't agree with what he'd done, he'd still convinced himself that Trip would understand. A voice – soft and quiet, and so deadly calm that it made Jon wince – smashed those hopes to pieces.

"So I was right. Someone _did_ die because of me."

Knowing better than to be fooled by this deceptive calm, Jon braced himself for what always followed. Trip didn't fully lose his temper too often, but when he did… God, it was its very own force of nature. When he spoke this quietly, you were in _serious_ trouble, and when he tossed in that famous sarcasm –

"…my own clone, no less, and… oh, yeah. Yeah, Cap'n. That explains one _hell_ of a lot."

– yes, Jon thought bitterly, you knew your already lousy day had just become infinitely worse. And just to make your misery complete, you also had to face the fury in your best friend's eyes.

Yes, they'd finally turned to meet his own, bearing the same anger that hammered into his conscience. Hard, relentless, and still completely unstoppable, it refused to be swayed by his silent pleas for mercy.

"…no wonder Phlox can't bear to look at me, and…Christ, Jon! What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

'…_it was the only way to save you_, _Trip_… _please_, _Trip_… _you have to believe me_…'

"…how can I _ever_ look him in the eye again? When all he'll ever see now is _him_?"

'…_until I can do the same_, _Trip_… _God_, _I wish I knew_…'

"…how can you look _yourself_ in a mirror?"

'…_I can_'_t_, _Trip_… _and you know why as well as I do_… _for those same reasons_, _I just can_'_t_…'

"…an' who the hell are you, to play God like that? Creatin' life, just so you can destroy it?"

Now fighting a losing battle against his own emotions, Jon's head snapped up, his eyes also blazing. Yes, they'd been down this road before. Not so long ago, it had been Trip in this unenviable position. And while he'd never throw that guilt back in his face… no. For all that, he still had to defend himself.

"Because I _had_ to, Trip. Because creating him was the _only_ way to save _your_ life," he said at last, fighting now to rein in his temper, before he said something that neither of them could ever forgive. "And if it meant playing God to do it, if it means spending the rest of _my_ life, wondering if I did the right thing, then… well, that's just something I'm going to have to learn to live with."

God, he still hated himself for that. Hated himself even more, for the anger that now overwhelmed him, and the cowardice it brought with it. Unable to face his friend any longer, he stood and, not daring to look back at him, strode out of sickbay.

Watching him storm through its doors, Trip stared after him, too stunned and conflicted to speak. Hell, against the emotions that were still crashing through him, he could barely breathe right now.

They'd left his head pounding too, even more painfully than it had before, which was a real shame – because after everything that Jon had just told him, so brokenly, he now had an awful lot to think about.

How could he accuse his closest friend of playing God when, not so long ago, he'd done so himself?

Resting his head back on the pillows behind it, Trip closed his eyes against the sudden dampness within them. Within this sanctuary of calming darkness, he heard his own words returning, to tug at his conscience.

'_Playin_' _God with other people_'_s_ _lives_, _it_… _damn it_, _Jon_, _all it causes is a whole world of trouble._'

Damn it indeed. And against one hell of a headache, Trip Tucker now also had one hell of a lot to think about.


	4. Chapter 4 To Bridge Troubled Waters

A/N: Again, thank you so much for all the support you've given me for this story. As the last chapter saw the friendship between Jon and Trip break apart, this one sees the first steps in how they'll start to repair it. As always, I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

The Cost Of Living

Chapter Four - To Bridge Troubled Waters

22:43. Jon knew, though, that sleep was still as far away from him now as it had been three hours ago. Not even Porthos, who'd always managed to raise them in the past, could lift his spirits this time. In dejected failure that perfectly matched his master's expression, he'd now curled himself into Jon's lap.

Still gently stroking his ears, Jon rested his head back into the support of the pillows behind it, and resumed his bitter reflections. He'd gambled everything he had, including his own ethics, in a desperate attempt to save Trip's life. The stakes had been impossibly high. If he were to lose, every one of them would be irrecoverable.

And that's exactly what had happened. His morals. His humanity. Trip's friendship. He'd lost it all. So when his door chime sounded, he felt damn tempted to tell whoever it was to go the hell away, and leave him the hell alone. He was still considering doing so when a soft, unmistakeable voice instantly changed his mind.

"Cap'n? It's – It's me."

His rank still, instead of his name? God, yes, he'd still take it. Hell, he'd take _anything_ right now.

Flying off the bed so fast that Porthos, too, almost went airborne, he reached the door in two strides – taking an odd sense of comfort that Trip looked as tired, and awkward, and damn unhappy, as he did. Whether he'd come to yell at him some more, or try to mend this rift between them more reasonably – well, as he stood waiting for one of them to make the first move, Jon silently prayed it was the latter.

A voice as full of regret as it was with uncertainty suggested those prayers may have been answered.

"I – I know it's late, and… um… I wasn't sure if you'd still be up…"

'_Yeah_, _like I had a hope in hell of sleeping tonight._'

Still thrown by his appearance, Jon wondered for an awful moment if he'd voiced that thought aloud. The fact that he was still on his feet, and not flattened on his butt, brought him a wry sense of gratitude.

"Oh, no! No, no, no, Trip, it's fine. Come on in, I'm, uh… glad you're here," he said at last, having to fight the urge to grab his friend by the shoulder, and pull him in sheer relief through the door. The guardedness in Trip's eyes had already told him that neither of them were quite ready for that yet. They had to start talking first. Rebuild their bridges, before he'd accept any kind of physical contact.

Of course, that didn't apply to Porthos, who'd already launched himself joyously against Trip's legs. It drew out a hint of a smile, brought a precious moment of normalcy, as he bent to gently pick him up.

"Yeah, you're always pleased to see me, aren't ya? Even when I don't bring you any cheese."

Still watching him, Jon felt himself frown, but kept it hidden. Thanks to an earlier chat with Phlox, he already knew why he'd made such an oddly subdued comment. Finding out your clone had been seen as much as a friend and colleague as you were yourself, it – well, it made the hurt and bewilderment on Trip's face, and in his next words, all the more poignant.

"Since gettin' out of sickbay, people have been starin' at me like I've grown an extra head."

Settling into Jon's armchair, Trip was silent for several moments as he held Porthos in his lap, letting himself be comforted by the unconditional love of a dog who still saw him as who he was. Not someone who'd cost his own clone his life, but… well, just good ol' Trip, who _always_ snuck him cheese when his dad wasn't looking.

Even without his favourite treat, Porthos was still happy to stay put. As Trip now gratefully saw him, his own canine counsellor. To his surprise, and Jon's greater relief, it made his next words much calmer than either of them had expected.

"From what you, an' Phlox told me, it's… well, if nothin' else, it's helped to explain that. If I were in their shoes, I guess I'd be a little freaked out too."

Despite the physical distance between them, Jon still felt a surge of hope chase away his exhaustion. That was the whole point of building bridges. So you could reach the goal, the friend, on the other side. And since that friend had laid the foundations, it was only right that he should make the next move.

"But not all the other things you need to know? About Sim, and why I did what I did?" he asked gently, not at all surprised, in fact oddly relieved, by how quickly Trip nodded, and looked back at him.

Much, if not all, of his anger had gone now. In its place was a thankfully calmer need to understand.

"Why would you do that, Jon? To create a life, just to destroy it… how could you _do_ that?"

With the benefit of his own time, cooling off in his quarters, Jon's head had cleared considerably too. The fact that Trip had come to him, at this hour of night, made him determined to make the most of it.

"That's a question, Trip, that I may well spend the rest of my life trying to answer," he said at last, shifting a little closer to him along the bed, so that Trip could see the complete sincerity in his eyes. "But all I can say right now, whether you agree with it or not, is that it's a decision I _had_ to make."

As he'd hoped, Trip had held his eyes through every word. Listened. Tried his best to believe him. When he finally spoke, the frown that remained in his voice suggested they still had a long way to go.

"If it were to save the whole crew, Jon, then… yeah, maybe I could understand it… but…"

Pausing to gather his thoughts, Trip took a deep breath, then shook his head, still clearly conflicted.

"But to just save one person? To save _me_? God, Jon… can you _really_ say that's justified?"

Inevitably, some greater degree of doubt and disapproval had crept back into those words. But Jon refused to see this as a setback. No, this was just a little bump in the road, that he'd already expected. Even if it took him, and Trip, the rest of the night to complete its journey … no, damn it, they would do it.

They _would_ get there.


	5. Chapter 5 The Needs Of The Many

A/N: If there was one scene in Similitude that affected me the most through the whole episode, it's the one that I've included in this chapter. As Jon tries to explain his actions to Trip, I couldn't think of any scene more appropriate - or a more appropriate title.

I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

The Cost Of Living

Chapter Five - The Needs Of The Many

23:02. Trip still sat in his chair, deep in thought as he stroked a contentedly curled beagle to sleep. At a still respectful distance, Jon still sat on the edge of his bed. Watching him. Subtly studying him. Yes, he seemed calm enough. But from nine years of friendship, Jon knew how deceptive that could be.

The light above him reinforced that sense of caution, as its glow turned him into two opposing entities. Blond hair, and contrasting darkness. Sunshine and shadow.

His best friend, still so very vulnerable.

Bearing a burden of responsibility too, now. One that, Jon guiltily realized, had strayed from _his_ own conscience. If Trip started to blame himself for Sim's death, then… no. God, no, he just couldn't let that happen. He'd barely survived his own crisis of conscience. Jon simply couldn't let him go through this one too.

Rising from the edge of his bed, he scooted his desk chair across the floor, until it faced where Trip was sitting. Settling into it, he leaned forward, into just enough of his friend's personal space to make his point.

"I'm not just your friend, Trip. I'd still like to think your _closest_ friend. I'm also your Captain."

From the subtlest change in Trip's eyes, Jon realized he'd encroached on that space just a little too far. Just because he backed out of it, though, didn't mean he couldn't still drive his point crucially home. Their friendship was on the line here. And, just like Trip's life, he'd do whatever it took to save it.

"And from _both_ those positions, the consequences of my decisions lie with me, and _no-one_ else."

Another puzzled, deepening frown. Another silent incentive for him to, still gently, keep going.

"Your life under my command is _my_ responsibility, Trip. If it's under threat, I _have_ to protect it."

It took several moments to get there, but Trip finally nodded. For him, for Jon, it was a priceless sight.

"By any means necessary. Just as you'd do for every other member of this crew," he said at last, releasing a breath he'd not even known he'd been holding. With that came just a bit more of his tension, if not his ability to understand his Captain's actions.

"Yeah, Jon, I get that. At least, I'm _tryin_' to get that. Now, let me ask you somethin' in return."

Smiling now, as if grateful for this challenge, Jon nodded. Yes, he already knew what was coming. Trip Tucker wouldn't be Trip Tucker if he didn't ask this question.

"All friendship an' personal feelings aside, why me? Why does _my_ life hold such a high price?"

Inwardly at least, Jon let his smile widen, then sadly fade. If in a different way… yes, there it was. Just days ago, back in Trip's quarters, Sim had asked… no, more like _demanded_, much the same thing. He had all of Trip's memories. All his feelings. Even the same body. Why didn't he have the same right to live?

With brutal coldness, that he would always regret, he'd spat out an unyielding, almost inhuman reply.

"_I must complete this mission. A__nd to do that_, _I need Trip._ **_Trip_!**"

When the right time came, and so more gently than he'd done before, he'd give Trip the same answer. He'd try to explain the incalculable burden of hopes that his chief engineer's life still carried.

Why the mission that he just couldn't afford to let fail relied so much on _his_ survival, his brilliance and expertise, instead of Sim's. For now, though, he'd start to pave its way.

Driven by a sudden need for movement, Jon stood and walked slowly across the room to his window – waiting for Trip to pick up on his silent request, and smiling once more at how quickly he did so. Whatever the differences between them, through hell and high water, Trip would always be at his side.

Until he finally spoke, they stood together, staring out at the stars, and the incalculable expanse beyond.

"Remember when we left Earth, Trip? How excited we were, to be here? How… _innocent_?"

Smiling too at the memory, Trip nodded – his question, for now at least, pushed to the back of his mind, and replaced by wry teasing.

"I remember you grouchin' at me for scratchin' the paint."

It was a favourite joke between them. For once, though, Jon's amusement was tellingly strained. Seeing this, Trip grew more serious too, sharing his more respectful mood as he started to see his point.

"Yeah, I remember. We were like kids after a housemove, checkin' out our new neighbourhood."

Still staring out at the stars, Jon nodded. His reply, when it came, held a bittersweet mix of gratitude and regret.

"Some neighbourhood."

'_With its own share of bullies_, _threats_, _and all those parts of it that you just_ _don_'_t_ _want to be in._'

Glancing at Trip, he was about to bring those thoughts out into the open, but then changed his mind. From his own tragic loss, he needed no reminder of the dangers this new neighbourhood posed to them. Instead, Jon pulled his thoughts back to the point that, eventually, would answer Trip's earlier question.

"Well, not any more. What we've experienced out here has changed all that," he said at last, meeting Trip's eyes once more, drawing strength from the understanding and empathy he could still see within them. "And I know I can't speak for you, Trip, but it's changed _me_ too… not always as I'd wish to be."

On the verge of replying, Trip saw the change in Jon's expression, and respected it with a silent nod. Besides, there were times when actions spoke louder than hours of words. This had to be one of them.

Shoulder to shoulder now, in every sense of its meaning, they stood together, studying the stars – both reflecting on their own memories of safer, happier times. Times that were now irretrievably lost.


	6. Chapter 6 Towards The Dawn

A/N: I mentioned in my previous note how one specific scene in this episode struck a real chord with me. Another part of it is included in this latest chapter, as Trip finally realizes the full reasons for Jon's decision.

As always, I hope you enjoy this instalment, and thanks again for these reviews!

* * *

The Cost Of Living

Chapter Six - Towards The Dawn

Just after midnight, the constantly changing realm of space began to lose its wonder. Not even the beauty of distant nebulae could hold the attention of two exhausted, demoralised minds. So, Jon had returned to sit on the side of his bed, and Trip had returned to the comfort of his armchair. And just as it had to be, as a friend and Captain's duty, it was Jon who broke their still brooding silence.

"However justified, Trip, I've crossed a line here. I've become something I once swore I'd never be."

The surprise he saw in Trip's eyes was oddly comforting. He could see the innate empathy beyond it. But for once, it wasn't enough to ease the guilt that his memory and conscience still held over him.

"And that question you asked, about looking myself in that mirror?" he added, even more quietly, nodding towards it, before forcing himself to re-meet those wide, dismayed eyes. "Well, right now, I can't. Each time I do, Trip, I see little less than a killer looking back at me."

Staring back at him for several more moments, Trip felt mere surprise turn into full blown alarm. Just a few months earlier, he'd seen the same haunted face in _his_ mirror. Felt the same crippling guilt for the cogenitor's death. From everything that had happened after it, he knew he had to stop this. Right here, and right now.

Rising from his chair, he sat back down at Jon's side, reaching around to grip both of his shoulders.

"You're _not_ a killer, Jon. You're no more a killer than I was back then. Than I am _now._"

That Jon didn't believe him yet didn't surprise, or even alarm him. He knew it wouldn't be that easy. Besides, his follow up was all ready to go. And there were already plenty more back ups behind it, if he needed to use them. He just quietly hoped he wouldn't.

"You're still the same Jonathan Archer, the same Cap'n. You're… well, just maybe not so innocent now, not so… _green_. Or _naïve, or_…"

A raised brow this time, above an eye that betrayed a hint of amusement for what he'd just said. Trip had to smile at it too. For once, he had to be grateful for his unfortunate talent of 'foot-in-mouth-itis.'

Still, it had worked. The strain in Jon's eyes had lifted a little. Time to make it go away completely. But with a bit more care this time. And a _lot_ more tact.

"You're havin' to make decisions out here, Jon, that you could've _never_ foreseen," he added more seriously, slipping as easily into big brother mode as he'd always done for Lizzie, and as Jon had always done for him.

"Not just for you, or us here on Enterprise, but… well, for Earth too. An' countless worlds _far_ beyond that."

Again, Jon didn't reply. Then again, the gently grateful smile on his face told Trip all he had to know. And in that moment of realization, everything else, including his earlier question, found its answer.

He had to be sure, though. Even as he saw the same answer in Jon's eyes, he just _had_ to make sure. Because the thought of sharing this responsibility for saving his family, his planet, maybe the whole damn galaxy, scared the _hell_ out of him.

"That's – That's why you did it, isn't it, Jon? Why you had to save _my_ life, instead of his? The mission. You didn't just need to save me, you had to save the mission."

Part in pride, part in relief, but mostly in gratitude that he finally understood, Jon smiled and nodded. Now that he'd got there, maybe they'd both sleep a little easier tonight. Well, what was left of it.

"Yes, Trip, it is… that's why I had to convince him to agree to the surgery," he said at last, pausing as he had to do now, to remember that moment, and respect Sim's desperate pleas for his life.

From that same sense of duty, and his need to protect Trip, he'd bear the guilt for their refusal alone. What they'd said, the line he'd come so close to crossing, would stay silently inside his conscience.

"…_I must complete this mission_. _And to do that_, _I need Trip_._** Trip**_…!"

"…_I'll take whatever steps necessary to save him_…"

"…e_ven if it means killing me_…?"

"…e_ven if it means killing you_…"

"…_you_'_re_ _not a murderer_…"

"…_don_'_t_ _make me one_…"

Instead, he'd just tell his friend what he needed to know now, so they could both start to move on.

"I had to make him understand, Trip, that I need you… we _all_ need you… to complete this mission."

However gently he'd broken them to him, the weight of these implications still left Trip visibly shaken. Consciously or otherwise, he reached up now, gingerly running his fingers across the back of his head. Beneath its healing scars, the nerves and tissue from another's body continued to heal his own. Injuries that could – _would_ – have killed him, if not for the sacrifice of a life that _he_'_d_ helped to create.

It was a thought he was still struggling to come to terms with. And its conclusion now hit him equally hard.

"I – I just wish there'd been a way, Jon, for him to live too," he said at last, his voice warningly quiet. Not from anger now, but a tide of emotions that, inevitably, was proving impossible for him to contain.

It started with a telltale hitch in his breathing, as he fought to keep it in check. Then a muffled sob, that had Jon throwing caution to the wind, and doing what he had to do – slipping his arms around Trip's shoulders, and holding him close, as his friend finally broke down.

"I – I wish I'd had the chance to meet him, just to… _damn it_, Jon! I never even got to _thank_ him!"

Close to tears himself now, Jon finally surrendered to them. As he had to do, to honour Sim's extraordinary courage. He let them fall silently onto Trip's shoulder. Drew on his strength until at last, he managed to re-find his own.

But only when he felt Trip start to regain his composure did he make the first move to separate them. Even then, he kept his hands on Trip's shoulders, giving him all the support he could, and bitterly wishing he could give him more.

"If – If you feel up to it, Trip… you can still see him, to… well, tell him whatever you need to."

Beyond the tears that still lay within them, Jon watched their tide of emotions run through Trip's eyes. Finally, silently, he nodded. For what they were about to do, there was just nothing either of them could say.


	7. Chapter 7 For Trip, For Sim

A/N: Anyone who has lost a member of their family, or a close friend, will know how much of a comfort it is to say goodbye to them. This chapter takes Trip through that vital part of his healing. As you can imagine, it was also very emotional for me to write. So, again, my thanks to everyone for your support.

* * *

The Cost Of Living

Chapter Seven - For Trip, For Sim

They entered sickbay as they'd left Jon's quarters. In respectful silence. And, for Trip, rising apprehension. Finding it dark, and without Phlox's presence inside it, he was all the more grateful for Jon's instead. Throughout their journey to get here, the hand on his shoulder hadn't stopped offering him comfort.

As his eyes fell on the chamber in front of them… _oh_, _God_. God, yes, he needed that comfort more than ever. Through its semi-transparent doors, he'd caught his first glimpse of… it.

Him.

A blurred hint of tawny blond hair.

'…_oh, God, help me do this_…'

Aloud, he heard his own voice. A whisper that sounded oddly faint, strangely distant, confirming what he, and Jon, already knew.

"That's – That's him?"

Jon must have felt his reaction too now, because the hand on his shoulder gently tightened. It steered him with the same care towards the controls that would release Sim's body into their view. Then he heard Jon's voice, through the same haze from which a chair had somehow materialized.

"Yes, Trip, that's him. Here, sit down. Take your time, take all the time you need. Just tell me when you're ready."

Falling rather than sitting onto the chair that Jon had pulled up behind him, Trip just nodded. He hated the thought of showing such weakness against the legacy of such selfless bravery, but – well, it was just him, and Jon, and the lifeless body inside that chamber, who were here to witness it. So, drawing on every ounce of courage that he could find, he met Jon's eyes again, and nodded.

"'kay. I'm – I'm ready."

Still not entirely sure that he was, Jon waited a few more seconds, then gently touched the controls – returning to Trip's side long before the gurney that bore Sim's body slid out into his sight.

Barely aware of the hands that again gripped his shoulders, Trip stared down at the unthinkable. Not just someone who vaguely looked like him, or even his natural twin, if he'd ever existed. No. Lying in a peaceful, eternal sleep, this was… himself, re-named. Himself, perfectly re-created.

Half in wonder, half in shock, Trip let his eyes travel down the body in front of him. Returning to where that journey had started, they just couldn't tear themselves away. He just could not believe what he was seeing.

The same boyishly handsome face. The same tiny mole on his right cheek. The same scar on his left. Beneath their softly closed lids, he knew the eyes below them would be the same, flawless blue. And the nose too. As Lizzie had never tired of teasing him, it was his very own little ski ramp.

The thought made him smile, if just for a moment, before the impact of what he was seeing hit him once more. Through the turmoil of thoughts that came with it, the thing he had to know the most finally surfaced.

"Did – Did he suffer?"

Already expecting this most natural of questions, Jon wasted no time in very gently answering it.

"No, Trip, he didn't suffer at all. After Phlox sedated him, he just… well, just drifted away. He wasn't in any pain, at any time."

'_But part of me died with him. A__ part of me that I can never get back._'

Still lost in his own thoughts, the bitter regrets of his closest friend's thankfully passed Trip by. Hesitating for a moment, then realizing it was something he just had to do, he reached out his hand – ignoring the cold lack of life he felt through it, and letting it stay on the bare shoulder in front of him.

This poignant connection seemed to settle him. It also let him say what he had to say. As Jon had gently told him, Sim's final words had summed up every part of the sacrifice he'd made. It was a debt he knew he could never repay, but… well, that wouldn't stop him from trying.

"Hey, Sim. I – I hear I owe you one. That's what you told me, right?" he finally whispered, searching for the right words, and ruefully shaking his head when he couldn't quite manage to find them. Taking a deep breath, then another, he quietly tried again.

"Right before you… well, before you did what I'd have done too, if I'd been in your place."

Damn, this felt so _weird_. Part of him felt so tempted to laugh at the thought of what he was doing. That he was sitting here, in the middle of the night, talking to his own dead clone, who'd been created purely to save his life.

From a far deeper sense of humbled gratitude, he ignored that temptation, and just kept talking – pausing between each point to let himself smile, and imagine how Sim would react to what he'd said.

"An' I'm sorry you never got to hear me say this, but… well, I'd like to think you'd know already…"

'…_that you can find trouble in an empty room_…? _Yep_, _got that_…'

"I – I mean, you'd have known the way I think… what I'd have told you, if I'd had the chance…"

'…_well_, _if anyone_'_s_ _life was worth saving_, _it was always gonna be yours_…'

"An' the Cap'n here told me how you were as much a part of our crew then as I am now…"

'…_in or outta Starfleet_, _the best damn crew there is_…'

"Everythin' you did to get us out of that damn cloud…"

'…_hey_, _I_'_m_ _a Tucker_… _what else did you expect_…?'

Finally, through a combination of his emotions and now crushing tiredness, he fell silent once more, wiping away the tears that had already fallen, that continued to fall through what he softly said next.

"You didn't just save my life, Sim. You're gonna save countless others. Whether you ever knew it or not, you're the best kind of hero. An' that's how you're gonna be honoured. That's how you'll _always_ be remembered."


	8. Chapter 8 For All Mankind

A/N: This is an extra chapter, that I felt had to follow on from the previous one. It gives Trip more time to honour Sim's memory, and gives Jon the chance to explain the full extent of his sacrifice. So, with more soul searching, surprises, and hopefully some laughs too, here's my idea on how Jon and Trip would conclude their vigil. As always, I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

The Cost Of Living

Chapter Eight – For All Mankind

The only wake that Jonathan Archer had attended had been quite the experience. Helped along with finest Irish whiskey, and uproarious tales of his highly colourful life, Jim Geary had been given quite the send-off.

As it had to be, this unplanned equivalent for Sim was passing rather more quietly, with equally more reverence. For the sake of their exhaustion, too, it would be rather shorter than the traditional version. They'd both agreed that it would last for the rest of the night. Then, to coincide with the dawn of a new day, they would both leave him to his rest, while they took on his legacy, and re-took the task of living.

So, between more quiet re-building of trust and friendship, and pauses of silence, Jon and Trip continued their vigil. Coffee had taken the place of whiskey, while quiet reflection still managed to respect Sim's all too brief existence.

On top of everything else, Trip had been floored by that. Thirty one years of life, in just eight days. It had been equally troubling for him, to then glance across at Jon, and see the same accelerated ageing etched into his face. Through the silence of his thoughts, he'd been appalled by how old he suddenly looked. So tired and careworn. So damn _old_.

The bright eyed, idealistic explorer from just those few years ago now seemed a whole lifetime away. As Trip sadly reflected, the burdens of command had made Jonathan Archer old before his time. It now prompted a question that was as full of empathy as it was regretful concern.

"This has been hell for you too, hasn't it?"

Despite his subdued mood, Jon had to smile at that. Yes, another of those massive understatements, that ranked right up there with the first. This time, though, he managed to find at least some humour within it as he shrugged his agreement.

"I'd be lying, Trip, if I tried to say otherwise."

Pausing, he then threw him a teasingly wry grin, warmed still more by the restored and re-strengthened friendship between them.

"And I know better than to try and fool you. I know the hell you'd give me if I did."

Smiling too, if more distantly, Trip stayed silent as he glanced back at Sim. In dutiful soberness, Jon did the same. Deep in healing reflection, it was several moments before Trip spoke again.

"Must've been weird too, watchin' him grow up like me like that. In just those - what, eight days?"

And that made it three. Still held in his friend's quieter mood, though, Jon couldn't fully enjoy its humour. Instead, in his haste to build more bridges between them, he almost made the mother of Freudian slips.

"Yes, it was. When yo- I – I mean, when he was eight, he took Phlox's scanner apart, just to see how it worked."

To his relief, Trip seemed unfazed by that little faux pas. To his greater surprise, he was actually laughing, his whole face lighting up with far happier memories.

"Yeah, that sounds like me that time, when I wrecked our Thanksgiving dinner," he grinned, hoping that Jon would leave it there, and rolling his eyes when, of course, he did nothing of the kind.

"_And_?"

Pulling a face, Trip then shrugged, drawing out the same expression he'd tried to use that day on his mother. What had Lizzie called it? Some typically weird name, that only little sisters could think up. Oh, yeah. The Woobie.

"Oh, I was fine takin' our table apart. Just not so much of a hotshot puttin' it back together."

His mom hadn't bought 'the Woobie' then. To his rueful chagrin, Jonathan Archer wasn't buying it now.

"_Aaand_?"

'_So help me_, _if you say that again_…'

"…mom's best dinner ended up on the floor…"

"_Aaaand_?"

'…_aww_,_ to hell with it_…'

"_Aaaaaaand_?"

_'I don't_ _care if you do bust me down to cabin boy_…'

"**_Aaaaaand_…?"**

_'…you_'_re_ _gettin_' _cold showers for the rest of the year_…'

"…anythin' remotely breakable was locked up, an' I was grounded 'til Christmas."

Threat to his shower regardless, Jon now almost slid off his seat, his whole body shaking with laughter. If more ruefully and less heartily than usual, Trip joined in with it too. Knowing how much they both needed it, he let it run its course, waiting for its final chuckles to subside, before quietly bringing both of them onto more serious ground.

"Would he have really known that, Jon? I – I mean, all the things I did, and saw, and felt as a kid?"

Completely serious now, Jon nodded, sliding his arm the rest of the way around Trip's shoulders. He'd need its support, for this final revelation that would bring him both pride and such bitter, unending pain.

"As hard as it is to imagine, Trip… yes, he did. He also had his own memories. And from his own sentience, he also told me why he agreed to give up his life to save yours."

A pause then, while he condensed that confrontation in the launch bay into the version that would protect his friend from its burden of guilt. A last glance through those bright blue eyes, until he was fully sure that Trip was ready to hear this final bombshell.

"It took him some time to understand, but… yes, at the end, Trip, he knew why I _had_ to get you back, to help me complete this mission. Why he couldn't let anyone else die, as your sister… as Elizabeth, died."

The reaction was all he'd expected, and all he'd already prepared himself for. As Trip stared him, in utter shock, so the arm around his shoulders grew supportively tighter.

"_Lizzie_? He – He did it for _Lizzie_?"

"Yes, Trip, he did. He saw her as his sister too. He loved her, and grieved for her loss, as deeply as you did."

Still stunned by what he'd been told, Trip just nodded. For several moments, he sat staring at his own, perfectly recreated self. Reflected on the astonishing courage it had taken, for Sim to make the supreme sacrifice. It made him all the sadder now, that he'd never had the chance to meet him, face to face.

God, how freaky _that_ would have been! And how the hell would Jon have fared with that? _Two_ Trip Tuckers, teaming up on him? Damn, he could barely cope with one!

Oh, the possibilities. The smile from that thought grew wider now, as Trip re-met more serious, anxious green eyes.

"So I guess I'm livin' for three people now. Charles, Lizzie, and now for Sim too," he said at last, glancing more ruefully around this tiny part of Enterprise that so often seemed like his second home. With the amount of time he spent in here, it damn well felt like it. Better late than never - well, it seemed a good idea now, for that unfortunate tendency to change.

"Guess I'd better start bein' a bit more careful."

"Well, as your friend and Captain, I'd appreciate that too," Jon shot back, a broadening smile removing more of those lines from his face, and restoring at least some of its lost hope and optimism. Heartened by this lift in his spirits, he then tousled Trip's hair – astonished, elated, and just slightly freaked out, when another priceless grin finished his poignantly wry warning.

"And the next time you feel like modifying those engines…"

"…I'll remember to watch my ass."


	9. Chapter 9 Living Legacy

A/N: I know I'm reading too much into this, but I thought it odd that Trip wasn't standing closer to Jon during Sim's funeral. He was on the lower deck, but wasn't part of the honour guard.

Of course, Malcolm, Travis, Hoshi, Phlox and T'Pol were there with him too, which suggests it was Jon's position as Captain that obliged him to stand apart from them. And if we'd seen Trip during that opening scene, it would have ruined the impact of the episode. But for the purpose of this story, there's my own reason for them to have kept that slight amount of distance. After all, they have to complete their reconciliation somehow, right?

Another thing that bothered me were the final moments for Sim. From my own experience of losing my father, I wish that Phlox, or Jon, had just offered him some kind of comfort. So, as this final chapter ends, I've tried to address that.

Again, my thanks for sharing this very emotional story with me. I cannot begin to express how much comfort and support it's brought me. I hope to be back here soon, but until then - I hope you enjoy this story's conclusion.

* * *

The Cost Of Living

Chapter Nine - Living Legacy

As he watched his crew return to their duties, Jon soon spotted the one person who'd stayed behind. Who'd _had_ to stay behind, to honour the colleague, the brother, he'd never had the chance to know.

For several minutes, the blond head remained bowed, leaving Jon with another difficult decision. To leave Trip to grieve in private, or take his place at his side, and intrude on this personal healing? Maybe he was just wishing for it to be, but the length of time he was taking suggested the latter.

The longer he stood watching him, the more a hopeful smile dared to spread itself across his face. The fact he was still there, as if waiting for something to happen… for someone… to be with him – no, even if he'd misread these subtle but so crucial signals, Jon knew he had to go with his instincts.

Whether he said it openly or not, Trip needed him. From that alone, he'd already made his decision.

Descending the stairs, he crossed the deck just as quietly, to stand in reverent silence beside him. For several moments, neither of them spoke, or moved, or did anything to disturb the other's thoughts. But then Jon felt the tiniest movement beside him. The subtlest nudge of shoulder against shoulder. Even when Trip remained lost in thought, this gesture meant more to him than any number of words. It wasn't just a silent seeking of comfort, but a soundless expression of gratitude for his presence.

A few more moments passed, before Jon finally raised his hand, placing it gently against his back – lifting it fully onto his shoulder when Trip glanced across at him, out of shamelessly flooded eyes.

It had been his idea, his gentle insistence, that Sim's funeral would include all possible honours.

'_You were part of this family_, _Sim. P__art of Starfleet. A__nd that_'_s_ _how we'll remember you._'

One of his own uniforms had commemorated him, as the hero that he had undoubtedly been. Now, the self control was starting to break. A shaky whisper slipped through its cracks.

"He's – He's gone. He's really gone."

Sliding his arms fully around Trip's shoulders, Jon held him through the storm that followed – anchoring him, sheltering him through its buffeting tides, until their grip on him finally subsided.

"Yes, Trip, he is. But always remember, Trip, that he still lives through you," he said at last, gently turning Trip around to face him, so he could say his next words straight into those still stricken eyes. "Every time that I, or Phlox, or anyone else on board, sees you, we'll see him too. _Always._"

In time, when he was sufficiently healed, Jon knew that his friend would believe him. But not yet. For now, there was still concern for a friend who, as usual, had pushed himself just that bit too far. When he saw Trip wince, and rub his temples, he knew he was in more pain than he'd ever admit.

More than ever now, his big brother instincts for Trip's health and wellbeing ramped up to full alert. Unfortunately, that little brother still had even greater, still painful reasons for trying to defy them.

"It – It's jus' a headache, Jon. I'm jus' tired."

While understanding his reluctance, Jon still didn't like the slur that had run through Trip's voice. All he had to do now was keep the worry out of his own as he tried to dispel his friend's unease.

"I know, Trip, but there's no harm in getting it checked out. _And_ you'll sleep better without it."

From faith in his judgement, or exhaustion, or through a combination of both, Trip finally nodded, allowing Jon to steer him gently out of one traumatic experience, to the emotional crux of another. Despite all of Jon's rallying assurances, the thought of facing Phlox was still one that he dreaded – hence the surprise and relief he felt when the doctor greeted him with a reassuringly familiar smile.

"I have to say, Commander, that… well, yes, I've been expecting you," he said just as gently, trading the subtlest of glances with his Captain as they both helped Trip onto the main scanning bed. "You've had a long and difficult day, and… right then. Let's take a look at you."

Too physically and emotionally drained now to argue, Trip allowed them to ease him gently down, onto a bed that - yes, suddenly seemed much more comfortable. Through a drowsily wry smile, his now fast dimming senses told him… yes, he'd been through this before.

Except there were differences this time. Small, but crucial differences, between that time and now. For one thing, Jon was beside him. Holding his hand. Still softly telling him what he needed to hear.

"It's all right, Trip. I'm here."

And there was the hand that lay on his other shoulder. Another voice, offering him the same comfort.

"That's it, Commander, just rest now. You're going to be fine. Just fine."

Exhaustion had almost claimed him now, gently tightening its hold on him, until his eyes finally closed. Falling instantly to sleep, he lay oblivious to the glances that Jon and Phlox were still exchanging beside him. Regret and forgiveness combining, to bring hope and comfort to their memories of Sim's last moments.

It would make their actions, all the decisions they'd made regarding his life, and death, just that little easier to bear. And within this gift of his legacy, every part of his spirit, and bravery, and courage, would live on.


End file.
